


Duck Crossing

by moon_opals



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), Looney Tunes | Merrie Melodies, どうぶつの森 | Animal Crossing Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Old Married Couple, Or Divorced Couples, Reconciliation, Scroldie Week (Disney)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: A paid vacation to an uncharted island doesn't go as planned, but with the help of an old friend named Tom, maybe Scrooge can set right some wrongs.(They don't. It's up to Redd and Goldie, but don't tell them that.)
Relationships: Scrooge McDuck/"Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt, Tanukichi | Tom Nook/Tsunekichi | Redd
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Duck Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> Go big or go home! One day, I hope I live to see the massive animation crossover. Let that day come.
> 
> Scroldie Weekend Day 1: AU.

A cool, calm night shrouded the island in starry darkness, an island - Scrooge rolled on his side - his family refused to appreciate. Accusations and frustrations soured his mood; each one stung harder than the last, though his vehemence denial had convinced them otherwise.

Glaring at the tent wall, Scrooge tried to understand. He couldn’t fathom their ingratitude or make sense of it. Their criticisms were beyond him, but somehow, he was the one glaring at a tent wall instead of multiple tent walls set near and around him.

A moon’s light grazed the walls. Scrooge deeper into the thin blanket, sewn - not knitted, and closed his eyes tighter. He knew it wasn’t an actual moon; the moon hadn’t shown itself, though the stars made their debut in typical fashion. Was it to spite the moon or him? Scrooge doubted that, but he did feel, in the back of his mind that soon needled its way to his front, that the artificial light was an act of spite.

A clamor of noise - music, in fact - vibrated in the distance. He was far enough to feel just the vibrations; words were a blur, a mumble of voices jammed together. He bundled deeper in the blanket; the thumping rolled under his cot. Gritting his teeth, he tried to return to that patch of sleep, unknown and unreachable, but the music persisted. 

He couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop remembering. Her voice was harsher in memory than the actual moment. _“Can you get your head out of your ass for one moment,”_ she set a hand on her hip, pointed accusingly at him, _“this was supposed to be a vacation.”_

On his back, the ceiling appeared further away. “Work is a vacation,” he mumbled dejectedly. His brow furrowed. Fists clenched. A vacation he had planned for he and his family; a vacation separate from the daily schedule of adventure and misadventure. A week of hard, muscle numbing work was what they needed and should have wanted.

How could they not see it?

Yet, for reasons beyond his understanding, Scrooge was the one alone in a tent. His family hadn’t even set theirs when offered and had chosen alternative accommodations. Grimacing, his fists clenched tighter; his teeth gritted harder. What he did was done out of love, out of concern for them, and this was the manner in which they repaid him.

A full paid vacation, albeit one that came at a discount for investing in the island, was more than they could have dreamt, let alone realize. And he did it. He did it for them. But he was alone. Which was acceptable, he insisted. Being alone wasn’t as horrible as people made it out to be, but their excitement dwelled in memory. As did their disappointment; two sides of the same coin.

“Blasted music.” His mind was made up. He rolled out of bed, feet planted firmly on the ground and debated his choices. “Blasted house. Blasted…,” he sighed. “Least they can do is turn it down.”

He slipped into his red coat and spats, the most suitable attire for the situation and pushed open the tent flap. The island side he resided on was still, quiet, and the only notions others existed on the island were the tents placed in various spots in the area. 

Except for the house…

Scrooge winced, but not at the lights. Straight ahead the mansion stood; on a landscape like this one, the antebellum - neoclassical architecture was an obscene sight. “At least it’s an easy walk,” he started forward; the terrain was pleasant, just as was about everything on the island. Beach - pleasant. Weather - pleasant. 

It was truly a paradise. “And that rooster wants to besmirch it,” Scrooge scowled, “I don’t know what Tom sees in him.”  
  
Of course, the answer was simpler and crude. _Money,_ snarked the logical part of his brain, the world’s richest rooster...you wouldn’t have said no either. True. But he would’ve made a wider, large island to build distance. Had the man no consideration for his neighbors?

He counted the seconds - 300 precisely, a fortunate time span, but the closer he got, Scrooge realized entering undetected may prove difficult. The backyard, from what he could tell, was swamped with people; dancing, eating and having a grand time, oblivious to their surroundings. Scrooge’s irritation bubbled, but he wasn’t going to stop, not now. Not until he’d spoken to the owner of the mansion.

He stomped up the steps, raised his cane to rap on the door, then thought against it. He’d catch more ground undisturbed if no one knew he was coming. Instead, he tested the doorknob, felt it yield and tentatively pushed; opening silently, he crept inside.

He recoiled instantly. The decor, while presentable, had a more southern touch than he would have liked, and the scents were harsh, peppermint and lemongrass. After a short moment of disgust, Scrooge hurried across the floor, glaring in every direction; with the music and lights, now neon rather than a sharp yellow, reflecting on the floor, he was led to a wide paned window. 

He stayed near the edge. Hiding in the darkness was his best shot, and he was able to see more this way. Hedonistic hooligans, grumbled in his thoughts as he scanned the dance-floor - there was a dance-floor, and there was much more. The backyard, closest to the beach, had everything a party should have.

A massive buffet steaming hot with chefs on each side; appetizers of diverse origins enticed many. A sushi bar. Punch bowls wider than his hat. A DJ station on the far side of the area where a white, unclothed jack russell terrier was seated above, thumbing a guitar. Wild, lively - the sight was the antithesis of Scrooge’s intentions for his family vacation, and there was nothing he could about it.

“I can’t believe it.” Despite the crowd, he was able to spot members of his family. Huey and Louie were immersed in conversation with a brown owl and raccoon dog; tucked away at a table at the corner of the party, they tossed miniature sausages and meat pies into their mouths. But this didn’t seem to disturb their companions. 

“He did say the boys ran his shop,” Scrooge mused, a little impressed. “It’d do the lad some good to have a peer his age that knows some of the ropes.”

Webby was nearby, crouched on fresh grass with another raccoon dog, who seemed unable to take his eyes off her as she chattered. They too had a plate of food, biting down and drinking punch. Soon, the rest of his family came into view. Launchpad and Drake danced, though it appeared more that Launchpad was swinging the man. Donald and Daisy also danced, despite the former constantly stepping on her feet. 

Beakley was at the punch bowl, downing what seemed to be her fifteenth round   
\- a line of fourteen glasses were in strict order in front of her; others cheered her on, proudly and loudly. Della and General Penumbra were at one of the tables, with Dewey resting in his mother’s arms; obviously, the boy had had too much to eat and too much dance. Always the first to fall asleep, he’d have to retire soon, and the thought delighted Scrooge, then he remembered.

“In my defense, I wasn’t planning for you to come this year,” chuckled a voice behind him. 

Scrooge’s shoulders sagged. The window’s reflection was clearer than it had any right to be, and he watched the figure approach. The taller figure was dressed in a white suit befitting of his southern heritage, tied together nicely in a silk, black ribbon. His hands were folded on his back, and he smiled with a twinkle in his eye that made Scrooge grumble.

It didn’t escape his attention that the figure - a rooster, large and white with the largest beak he’d ever seen - had his arm wrapped around someone shorter but not plumper than him. His eyes were cobalt circles wrapped in a dark, soft brown, and his ringed tail bobbed behind him. A small, genial smile appeared, winking as brightly as the sparkle in the rooster’s eyes.

“Now, y’see, Tom,” Foghorn laughed, “I told you, I say I told you he’d come in like a rattlesnake full o’ venom, ready to ruin everyone’s fun.”

“Ruin everyone’s good time,” Scrooge crossed his arms. “Y’know that blasted music system is far too loud at this hour.”

Tom, the raccoon dog, raised his hands defensively. “Now, Scrooge, I told Foghorn he could have his party, and he did come before you. He planned the party well in advance.”

“In advance,” Scrooge scoffed. “What was it? Two weeks?”

“More like two years, Scrooge,” Tom chuckled.

He buckled, shocked, and stared at the rooster for confirmation. And that twinkle, ever so mischievous, glimmered.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Maybe I did come here to tell you turn down the lights, but how can you expect a duck to sleep with all this noise?”

“I’m sure you could if you had some fun,” Foghorn chortled, slapping his large stomach, “and besides, I say besides, everyone’s having a good time. Why, I saw your gal not too long ago heading off with Redd -,”

“What,” they said in shocking unison. Surprised at their own reactions, they shared cautious glances before returning to Foghorn. 

Scrooge cleared his throat, “What do you mean Redd and Goldie were seen together?” He had to repeat the question carefully as to not confuse himself more than he already was. 

Taken off guard, Foghorn eyed them suspiciously. “I saw ‘em near the boat,” he answered, then squared them down, “what ya’ think they’re up to?”

“No good,” Tom said flatly. “I can’t believe I…”

“Oh no, not you too, Tom,” Foghorn sighed, covering his eyes with his hands. “Look, if you're gonna get up in arms about it, go and find 'em. I'm gonna see if your housekeeper can show me a good time.”

“Just tell us where they went,” Tom sighed, pinching the space between his eyes, “we want to make sure they’re not up to trouble.”

“I reckon they can’t get up too much, but I saw them going near Goldie’s yacht.”

_Goldie’s yacht_ , Scrooge couldn’t believe it, but he certainly did believe it. The woman had no decorum, no propriety. She did as she pleased, when she pleased and how she pleased, with no regard for the consequences. Scrooge didn’t wait for the two men - the richest raccoon dog and rooster in the world - and started off in the direction to Goldie’s yacht.

Going through the mansion was faster than going outside again. Leghorn was eager to show them the mansion; Scrooge’s complaints had fallen on deaf ears. He made a right and found himself on a path to the kitchen where the kitchen door led to the exact location of Goldie's yacht...

Because she’d promptly refused his offer when he brought it up to her. _“Tom Nook,”_ she laughed, a teasing glow encased her gaze, _“Scroogey, you know how we get along.”_

Which was tenuous, at best, if Scrooge was honest with himself. He didn’t rightly blame Tom for that. Goldie was frivolous and stubborn and most importantly, greedy without any shreds of moral character - though some flints of a morality long gone appeared every now and then. Of their many differences, at least he and Tom shared that common ground. 

“Scrooge, wait,” Nook chased, but Scrooge didn’t have the patience to wait. Even as he neared the kitchen, knowing he’d encounter some strange person, he didn’t stop. Of the people that showed their ingratitude, Goldie was the worst. She’d said nothing, glaring at him before walking in the opposite direction. 

“I don’t have time,” Scrooge snapped. “If we don’t stop them, they’ll probably steal The Sunchaser.”

“Steal what?”

Scrooge skidded to a stop - more surprised than confused; his whiskers trembled, and his head turned in the direction of the voice. He realized the kitchen was smaller than he expected. It was larger than his own but smaller than he thought an extravagant chicken tycoon would want for his home. 

Size didn’t cause the stunt in his resolve; in fact, after the initial scan, Scrooge had temporarily misplaced his intent. He was curious, more than curious, to see the woman sitting at the center counter. Dressed in a black summer dress, patterned in bold sunflowers, the woman held a toddler on her knees; no older than a year old, chubby hands reached for her hooped earrings, eyes shimmering skillets on her face. Held firmly in the woman’s arms, the toddler babbled, smiling and cooing as half-bitten words spittled out of her mouth.

But the woman and toddler weren’t alone. A third person - a slightly younger, yet no less adult woman owl - stood at the end of the counter, eyes sparkling. She wore a peach checkered sweater, and her hair, redder than the ripest cherry was bound in a top knot bun, with a pink bow clasp in the back.

“Oho-ooo,” she marveled, clapping her feathers together. “Mr. McDuck, Opal and I were discussing the relevance of the planet’s new moon.”

Opal regarded Scrooge ruefully. “She didn’t know the whole Moonvasion story,” she shrugged. “I wanted to fill her in, and she gave me a very extensive history on wishing stars in these parts.”

“Yes, I see,” he cleared his throat. “Very interesting, but I was looking for someone -,”

“Mom?”

Scrooge flushed. “Erm - well, yes,” he stumbled. Sometimes, her forwardness was too much for him. “She and Redd were seen together, and I don’t want her getting into trouble.”

“Agreed,” Tom said.

“I see,” Opal nodded. “Unfortunately, Mom and Redd haven’t met expectations. They’re under the gazebo.”

“The gazebo,” they said, searching through the kitchen window. Indeed, what she said was true. With the lights, the two were unmistakable in the light, sitting across from each other.

“Yeah, I hope you’re going to apologize.”

Jerked back to the present, Scrooge frowned. “Apologize,” he scoffed. “Why should I? And do go on saying you want an apology too.”

“I’m not too naive to expect one,” she said dryly, then smiled. Her voice took on a softer tone, sweeter as her beak met Dahlia’s. “Y’know, I don’t like parties.”

“What?”

“I mean I don’t hate them,” she ignored his question, “but I’d prefer to avoid them if I have to. I also don’t like babysitting, and usually, I avoid children, most of them.”

Scrooge scowled, hands atop his cane. “Your point Opal?”

“I also hate getting shot with arrows or working overtime without pay or fighting demons or anything else your adventures have me doing,” she continued undeterred, sitting Dahlia on the counter as she played with her hands. “But I do them, because I love Donald who loves Daisy and who deserves a break, because I love Della and the kids who wanted me to have fun, and I wore this dress, this floral dress because I knew it’d make my mom happy to see me wearing a dress.”

Scrooge shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t look down at his spats, but the urge was there, more so than usual - which was almost nonexistent. He knew where she was going.

“Guilt tripping won’t work lassie,” he swallowed thickly. “I am your boss.”

She didn’t lose that prickly sweet tone. “I can always find a new job, Daddy,” she cooed. “I found over 40,000 bells today shoveling and enough dinosaur fossils to pay off my student loan debts.”

What sounded like a snort choked, strangled in his throat. Incredulous, he spun to Tom, silent, and the tanuki shrugged helplessly, as if that was an explanation.

“Are you daft man,” he hissed. “What sort of island is this?”

“One that keeps people coming to it,” he replied defensively. “And bells are easily transferred to American dollars.”

Opal smirked. “Indeed, so, back to my point,” she inhaled, “I do things I don’t like for the people I love, and everyone out there has done something for you that they’d rather not do, especially after you lied about our planned vacation.”

“Work is a vacation.”

“No, work is work,” she said through a strained smile, harsh and cold but still tender for Dahlia. “Not for us, not for everyone. Just you. We just…,” she exhaled, shaking her head, “every adventure you take us on, takes a bit out of us.”

“And Goldie?”

Opal rolled her eyes and shrugged. “I think she wanted to spend time with you,” she answered, “time not dedicated to...adventures or competition or thievery.”

He didn’t like looking back, but his mind betrayed him. Her shaking her head solemnly. Angrily. Walking away to her tent on the other side of the island. Was she disappointed? No, that wasn’t their relationship, and he’d taken cues from her. She maintained the status quo. But when he looked up again, he saw Opal’s pitying smile.

Grabbing Dahlia, she shifted her on her hip. Her small head rested on her shoulder, playing with her rumpled sleeve. Sleep weighed on her eyelids.

“Goldie knows how we work,” he whispered, taken aback. “I know your mother.”

“Yeah, you do.” She smiled sadly, “Sometimes, only when you want to.” She smiled at Celeste and walked out the kitchen. The owl, suddenly aware of what she’d seen, waved goodbye and followed.

“Do you think you should’ve gone that far,” she whispered. If Opal responded, they didn’t hear. 

In the silence of the kitchen, the two stared through the window. They didn’t seem far. Only a few steps. It wouldn’t take them five minutes.

“Are you ready?”

Tom inhaled. “No, but let’s go.”

* * *

A bottle of scotch sat on the table. Redd reached a paw and offered another glass full. Goldie nodded, smiling, and saw movement in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t be positive without taking a full look, but she knew what was coming and why.

“Guess you were right,” she smirked, drinking the warm, harsh liquid. “They’re both coming.”

Redd sighed. “At least one of us is going to have a happy ending,” he chuckled, downing his drink in one go. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Their idle conversation had reached its end, and they were standing there, reluctant and frustrated. It was scrawled in a child’s handwriting across their faces. Goldie propped her feet on the table and motioned to the bottle. 

“Goldie.”

“Scrooge.”

“Redd.”

“Tom.”

Goldie stretched and reclined, “This is too comfortable to past up. So…”

“No worries, I gotta count inventory,” Redd teased, pushing back. “Come on, Nook,” he winked. “You can lecture me on the boat.”

Tom frowned, perplexed. “Wait, but -,”

“Representative Anaïs is eating to her heart’s content, which is ironic since she's a rabbit. Isabelle is having fun too, and the boys are running around,” his grin was scarred, crooked. “No one will interrupt.”

Tom opened his mouth to retort. To stop him. To convince him otherwise. But nothing came. His tail lowered, and he followed down the way.

“Good night,” he said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

* * *

Scrooge didn’t waste anymore time. He took a seat in the chair closest to her. Leaning back, he watched the party reach its height and sighed.”

“So…”

“I’m not leading tonight,” she chuckled, swallowing the last of her scotch. “You can start.”

“Opal seems to like the dress.”

Goldie chuckled. “I bought her a dress I knew she wouldn’t like, and for the first time in my 35 years of knowing her, she wore it,” she shook her head. “Without fuss, without arguing.” She set her drink down.

“That is extraordinary.”

Her hair was unbound, running past her shoulders in sharp waves. He always liked when her hair was down in quiet moments like these. When she looked at him, there was a tired if defiant glaze in her pupils.

“Is that hard to believe I wanted to have some normal fun with you,” she asked, and though her tone was casual, there was just enough emotion to convey disappointment. If only a small amount.

“Normal, Goldie?”

“What? Can’t blame a girl for wanting a drink and a dance.”

“You came here on your personal yacht.”

“After you expected me to ride in that death machine,” she barked but it’s volume lacked heat. She rolled her eyes, “I don’t think so.”

Scrooge tsked. “I didn’t allow them to crash,” Scrooge reminded her. “I couldn’t afford to.” He didn’t mind crashes. Crashes were unavoidable, but with someone like Tom Nook, he was certain to charge Scrooge triple than the regular costs. 

“Oh right,” she hummed. “The tanuki is sharp.”

“He is…,” trailing off, Scrooge set his sights to the sea. “Goldie, lass, did you want to spend a normal night with me? No cheating or backstabbing or cutthroat thievery.”

Goldie squinted, rolling her neck. “Damn kid,” she groaned. “Always putting her beak in someone’s business.”

“Was she right?”

She pouted. Visible were the fibers of her soul resisting the urge to confide honestly of her feelings for him and their situation, at least tonight’s, but the liquor had loosened her tongue, softened the guards she wore for protection.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I knew I liked the idea. A free vacation, who would pass that up? But I remembered who was planning it. So sure, I was disappointed and exhausted.”

“And lonely?”

Goldie snorted. “Who called you?”

“Dickie is in Brazil right now.”

“Shuddap,” she sloshed, giving up muscle control on her neck. Her eyelids fluttered. “But yes,” she sighed. “Dickie’s in Brazil, and for the first time in over twenty years, Opal wanted to go somewhere with me.” She smiled sleepily. 

Scrooge sat there, wondering, tossing accusations and frustrations around in his head. 

_“Can’t you do this for us? Just once? We’ve always gone the extra mile for you.”_

He winced, suddenly shame faced. Difficult to swallow this truth, he spilled out in a sigh and nodded. “I suppose they were right,” he admitted meekly. “I’m sorry, Goldie.”

“I forgive you,” this time her smile was genuine. “But next time we go on an actual vacation, you tell your family well in advance what they should expect. Deal?” She extended her hand.

Scrooge clasped it firmly, smirking. “Deal.”

She returned his smirk eagerly. “Wanna make out on my yacht,” she grinned. 

“Sounds fun,” he clapped his heads. He reached for, smiling as she wrapped an arm protectively around her waist. 

“Don’t forget the scotch,” she pointed, adding a firm edge to her tone for emphasis. Laughing, Scrooge grabbed the half empty bottle by the neck. 

He whistled. “Impressive,” he whistled. “Where’d you get this?”

“Redd and I raided Leghorn’s liquor cabinet,” wiggling eyebrows, her grin took on a devilish glow. “Call me impressed, the rooster has tastes.”

For what it was worth, Scrooge didn’t roll his eyes or sigh in exasperation. His smile grew, then out came a snort - loud and undignified. He pulled her close, kissing her cheek as her bangs tickled his brow.

“You infuriating woman,” he sighed dreamily. 

Waves underfoot warned them about negligence, and they stumbled up the ramp, making it safely atop. 

Not one for liquor, he placed the bottle safely on the bed stand. She’d fallen in bed, fully dressed and scrawled on the comforter, head lulled to the side. 

“Make sure you apologize,” she mumbled, feeling his arm curl around hers from the back. “I don’t feel like hearing your shield maiden complain during breakfast.”

“Shield maiden?” _Ah, I see,_ he smiled, snuggling close with his beak lost in her hair. “I’ll talk to them before breakfast.”

“Good,” she mumbled. Unconsciously, she clasped his hand and sighed. “And you’re welcome, you old codger.”

Scrooge almost said something, almost tat for her tit remark, but soon snores rocked around them. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and fell asleep beside her.

In spite of the neon lights shining through the window. 

**Author's Note:**

> The hardest part was picking which characters fit best, but I hope I did an okay job...at it. Hopefully, in the future, I can do better. Here's to a successful Scroldie Weekend 2020!
> 
> All feedback is appreciated!


End file.
